


If Your Feelings Aren't a Story

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Flint Cares Too Much, Flint's Coat, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not A How-To For Dealing With Hypothermia, Post-Season/Series 03, Powerplay, Sharing Body Heat, Silver Has Issues, Storm - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:19:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silver seeks out a storm.</p><p>"Perhaps it is my turn to sell you a forgery."</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Your Feelings Aren't a Story

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Silver gets stuck out in a storm (somehow) and when he is found by the crew/Flint is really cold...naturally Flint lends him his coat...smut ensues.
> 
>  **A/N:** First time writing fic in ages :) It turned out darker and more instrospective than OP might have wanted, I hope you enjoy anyhow :) Madi wanted to have a couple of lines too, and there are some _Treasure Island_ references just because.
> 
> The title is from Hot Chip - _Dark & Stormy._

In the wake of the battle, a storm came sweeping over the island, as if drawn to it by what had just transpired. The Maroons’ first tempest here had nearly destroyed their entire settlement: almost nothing had been left standing and many lives had been lost. But the survivors had learnt their lesson and adapted, building better and stronger houses and fortifications.

That memory belonged to a child, but also to a grown woman - a Queen’s memory, assimilated.

Silver’s thoughts turned to the _Walrus,_ lying in the bay with her anchor cables pulled taut. Those cables _would_ hold - they had held through all of Flint’s frankly insane maneuvers. He, Silver, was in his right to sit this one out, what with being unable to contribute to the struggle against the natural elements.

And yet, and yet.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself up.

“John?” Madi called out, her voice guarded. “Where are you going?”

“I should be on my ship.” He relished that possessive little ‘my’, which distracted him from the pain in his leg. “With my crew.”

Walking was fine; it was the transitions that cost him the most, from sitting to standing to moving around; from fighting to being still and the other way around.

Was _this_ the true and final price of power? Never knowing any peace?

“Your crew has a captain,” she reminded him. “Have you not told me yourself that storms are _his_ business?”

Always the sensible one, Madi.

“Perhaps I am feeling left out,” he quipped, already sensing that he had struck the wrong chord. “There is no point to prove, I simply feel I should be there with them, like always.”

Without reading her face or posture, he knew that she was tired. Tired enough to tell him that someone would take him to the beach, instead of trying to talk him out of it in earnest.

It was not _a_ someone, though. It was a living reminder, either chosen on purpose or a petty trick of fate.

Silver did not believe in fate unless it was in his favour.

The wind picked up, blowing back his hair. They took the least tortuous path through woods, but still, by the time the moist soil gave way to sea-sprayed sand, the waves were rearing up like spooked horses.

The sight almost made him reconsider. Idly, he wondered if Madi’s man hadn’t been at all tempted to push him into one of those hidden traps and later claim that it had been an accident. The answer was, of course, ‘yes’, and from there, it wasn’t such a great leap to imagine Flint’s buried cannons suddenly going off.

A more practical obstacle: not a single boat to be found. Which he refused to accept. Finally, it turned up, lying bottom up as if someone had kicked it over.

“Thank you,” Silver said to the man as soon as the boat was in the water. He added softly: “ _Chidi_.”

If he was surprised that Silver had learnt his name, he chose not to show it. His orders were to walk Silver ashore, and nowhere did they say ‘row’.

With a grim little smile, Silver climbed in, ignoring the dreadful roar of thunder and the flashes of lightning overhead. He had seen worse. He had looked worse in its face and lived to tell the tale.

The memory of Flint’s face just before sailing into the storm filled his mind, unbidden. There was such an unquenchable fire in Flint, a fire that survived in embers and off the merest scraps, only to blaze up like never before. But watching a mask for too long was not how you grew into it.

He saw himself pulling the storm in until his boat became its eye. A wave hit the hull, shattering the illusion. The boat spun round wildly, the tiller useless, and he would be lucky if he got carried back to where he had started.

What _the devil_ had he been thinking?

The next wave pushed him sideways again; he stayed down, not even trying to paddle.

Luck did not enter the picture. The sea tossed him this way and that, a giant cat toying with a puny mouse. _You thought you could tame me?_ it seemed to ask. _You, who is but another piece of flotsam?_

He had challenged it once, wrenching Flint from its grip. But he had also had two healthy legs then.

Buckets of cold water poured down from the sky onto his prone body, icy fingers running over his scalp. Drenched to the bone and terrified, he counted down to the inevitable crash, a part of him thinking, _At least there’s no one here to witness this._ But another part clamoured for a hand to hold.

 

* * *

 

The good news was, he was still alive. From his flat rock, he could just make out the treacherous boat, upside down again. Tame sea spray fell on the rough shore, and the sky was bright with stars and a watchful moon.

He must have missed a couple of hours. His lips were caked with salt, his throat was miserable, and every nerve in his body was a loud, competitive bastard.

Also, he had some company.

A huge, slug-like sea beast barked at him, the rocks echoing with the sound. He stared at it, taking it for a demon come to drag him under.

“Making new friends?” Another demon - again with that smile, wrapped so tight over the teeth. Outlined against the dark, moonlit water, Flint was definitely more sea beast than man. “Negotiations went south, I take it?”

By God, Flint was _joking_. Silver’s teeth chattered, starting a wave of shivers that spread to his missing leg.

“How did you find me?” Or at least, that was what he had _meant_ to ask. What came out was an undignified garble.

“I followed the current.”

Yes, Flint and his basics of navigation. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Flint had come here to gloat and then leave him to find his own way back.

It would involve a lot of crawling on his belly.

Instead, Flint helped him up, giving him some hot rum to drink and swaddling him in a blanket.

The sea had settled and the motion of Flint’s boat was lithe and light. As to Silver, he was ignored all the way until the men lined up to greet the one-man rescue party, trying to ply Silver with more drink and otherwise revive him.

Flint slammed the cabin door in everyone’s faces in his usual fashion.

Silver could bloody well remove his own clothing, but Flint seemed to have convinced himself that he couldn’t be trusted to do _anything_ without supervision now. He paid special attention to Silver’s hair, drying it aggressively before wrapping not one but two scarves around Silver’s head. Salt had got into his metal boot, aggravating the sores just as Flint’s uncharacteristic fussing played on his raw nerves.

“Will you _please_ turn around?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice level. “Unless your actual plan is to stare me to death.”

He washed the stump briskly, like it was a lump of not particularly fresh meat. Mercifully, Flint did not offer to do _this_ for him also. There was rescue and then there was just rubbing it in.

Despite a thicker new blanket, his shaking did not subside. At least the rest of his faculties were more resilient. Flint crossed the cabin in one neurotic stride, peeling off his coat.

It landed on Silver’s shoulders, as incredible as that may seem.

Flint’s patience ran out as he was readjusting the covers. “What the _fuck_ were you trying to do?”

A smooth lie rolled off his tongue, about his duties as the Quartermaster. He had practiced it in advance.

Flint’s stare bore down on him like another wave. “I am prepared to deal with your… _teething_ pains, Silver,” the Captain drew a sharp breath, reeling some emotion in, “but you had me convinced that you knew your own limits.”

Silver’s stomach churned. Flint _understood_. Understood what it was that had possessed him to seek out the storm. And far from being amused or telling him off, Flint looked… afraid. Not of him, but _for_ him.

“I thought you were a grown man now,” Flint continued, his too-bright eyes belying the harsh tone. “But you remain a petulant child playing with a tinderbox.” He made to put more distance between them.

“Fuck that!” Silver snapped after him. “ _I_ thought you didn’t scare easily.”

Flint swung back towards him. “ _Your life_ ,” he uttered through gritted teeth, “ceased being yours alone the moment you took that seat on the council. So do us all a favour and save your little power trips for-”

“When?” Silver cut in. “When you can watch me stumble?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Flint pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards, folding his arms over it. “Unless our respective definitions of partnership have diverged again.”

“No, they haven’t.” Silver had just had one hell of a boat trip, and he could sense a whole bloody speech, not to say a lecture coming from Flint.

The Captain skipped right to the bottom line: “If you don’t wish to find yourself helpless and alone, then _don’t go out in the middle of a fucking storm_. In case you haven’t noticed, being like me doesn’t come with a safety net.”

No, the safety net was Silver’s grasp of human nature… all but his own. To see himself, he needed a looking glass. And while he coveted Flint’s entire domain, some parts of it were more out of his reach than others.

“Are we clear?” Flint prompted. “Or is there anything else you need explained?”

“Perfectly.” A silence dropped between them like a penny. “What about you, Captain? Is there anything else _you_ need?”

Flint’s coat sat heavy and rough against his skin, heavy with a thousand battles.

Flint leaned over him again, armed with yet more rum and blankets. “I need those fucking shivers to stop, or I’m calling Dr. Howell.”

Silver smiled. “You and your ultimatums - no one can ignore them.” On a whim, he reached out to trace the line of Flint’s cheekbone. Not the alluring mask, but flesh, skin and bone.

“What are you doing, Silver?” Flint asked in a low voice.

And wasn’t that _the_ question. If he played this game right, he would secure another piece of Flint. But if he got it all wrong, he would set back their progress by months.

“Oh, I don’t know, trying out a new fighting tactic?” He put on a cocky smile, dredging up a younger, livelier self. “Ultimatums aren’t necessarily the cure for everything, Captain.”

Flint’s nostrils flared. “You wipe that smirk off your face, and whatever stupid ideas you have been getting from your mind, or _cold_ will be the least of your problems right now.”

“Is that a promise?”

“There he goes again.” Flint’s glare cooled down to half scathing half incredulous. “At this juncture, there are only two unforgivable crimes you can commit against our partnership, John.” Silver had been prepared for anything but to hear his first name out of Flint’s mouth. “The first one is placing yourself at a needless risk. And the second is violating my trust. So tell me, how the fuck have you managed to commit _both_ in the space of a few hours?”

“You have forgiven me once,” he replied, burrowing deeper under the warm fabric. “Or at least, accepted my shortcomings. I see no violation of trust in asking for what should have been a simple favour between two shipmates.”

“ _Nothing_ is ever simple with you.”

“That’s not true!” He was actually the most straightforward man that Flint would ever meet. “If it’s not simple, then it must have been a blunder.”

“A fucking avalanche of blunders,” Flint muttered.

Silver was gratified to share the embarrassment around. Flint took off his shirt, and, slowly and carefully, placed himself between Silver and the wall, his coat now covering them both. Sharing your body heat with someone else meant giving it up, surrendering it.

“You can’t get a frostbite in these waters, can you?” Silver wondered, apropos of nothing.

Flint stirred behind him. “What?”

He repeated the question. He had heard stories of sailors freezing their plaits clean off on long sea voyages.

“Silver. You don’t have a fucking _frostbite_.”  

“Have you had it often? In the service?”

“No.” A charged pause. “What is the coldest winter you can remember?”

An orphanage turned into a right ice pit in any year - a draughty one, too - but he wasn't like Flint in this. He didn’t cling to his past, merely keeping it stashed away safe, on the off chance that it came in handy. He shifted closer, seeking more and in return, offering his long, chilly nights.

Flint’s arm around him tightened, an unconscious gesture that caught both of them off guard.

Silver commented, “Sharing is such a wonderful thing, isn’t it? It always manages to surprise me.”

Suddenly, the dreaded Captain laughed. “My god, you are really terrible at this, aren’t you?”

“At what?”

“ _This_.” Flint lay his palm on Silver’s chest, which was strangely distracting. “Physical intimacy.”

“Spoken as if you haven’t been warding it off for a decade.”

“And what has become of that effort now?” Flint’s hand trailed ever so slightly downwards, halting over Silver’s navel. “Manipulation is a choice, on both ends.”

“If you were to tell me now that we have nothing more to fear from each other in this scenario, I would have the pleasure of calling you a liar,” Silver murmured.

“Fear is also a choice. The question is, what is it that drives you past it? Is it thirst for more power or is it something else?”

When Flint had laid all his secrets bare before Silver, he had awoken something in him and now, that something wouldn’t bloody go back to sleep. “Maybe I wanted to know what it is like being held by you without being crushed to death.”

The body has its needs, and the mind also hungers. Better to make use of these things than to waste them on a stranger. Flint’s friendship should have sufficed - each new complication was a new risk, in a relationship as volatile as theirs. If, even for a moment, he stopped being careful, the Captain would swallow him whole.

Deep in thought, he almost missed Flint’s reply:

“What makes you think,” Flint whispered hoarsely, with a tremor in his voice, “I still have it in me to hold someone tenderly? And even if I did, what about your reservations? Tonight, you are cold, so you choose to put them aside for your own reasons, but what happens tomorrow?”

Who had said anything about tenderness? Oh, the Captain must have read between the lines. “You trust me. We have already established that. So trust me that tomorrow will also be... navigable, so to speak.”

“Trust is _not_ a licence to do as you please whenever you please,” Flint all but growled.

Silver twisted his head around to look at him. “Isn’t it, though? Trust or acceptance must never be blind, nor can it ever be total, because life is too complicated, but what there is between us, is enough to call it a friendship and weather a storm together. And friendship is not a demand, it is an offer.”

If he was coherent enough to do a little speech, then Flint shouldn’t worry about taking advantage of him too much.

By way of reply, Flint caught Silver’s mouth between his teeth. His hands roamed over Silver’s body, pinching and squeezing and trailing fire in their wake.

And then, just as abruptly, those rough caresses were gone. “Are you quite certain you wouldn’t rather have it this way?”

“Wait, there is a difference? Because just now, it escapes me.”

“The crew would talk,” a last-ditch effort, at last. “Wouldn’t that ruin your precious status quo?” Since when did Flint care about _his_ status quo?

“They didn’t talk after my first extended stay in your cabin.” Their faces were inches apart, their breath mingling. “So why should they now?”

The taste was bitter, but by god, he _wanted_ it. If he was pulling Flint’s tenderness out of the man and wrapping it around his fingers, then Flint was kindling a strange passion in him - a dark, brooding thing like nothing that he had ever experienced or asked for before. So much for reservations.

His mind was shrouded in an all-consuming fog of heat, want and need. Flint’s grip loosened, almost playful now, and his eyes reflected a feverish triumph, black ringed with sea-green.

He cursed, realising belatedly just how difficult it would be to climb out of this trap.

“ _Please_ ,” he breathed out. “Get on with it, damn you!”

“Whatever happened to wanting it slow and tender?”

“You are being anything _but_ tender, Captain.”

“And how would _you_ know?” Flint’s beard tickled Silver’s neck. “You are so new to this strange little thing called caring. Perhaps it is my turn to sell you a forgery.” His teeth closed around a patch of skin, charting out a bruise. A mark. “What say you to that?”

Frightened though he was, Silver couldn't help feeling _thrilled_. “I say I hit a treasure chest.”

Flint pushed himself up, looming over him and forcing him to close his eyes against the intensity of that gaze. “Once a greedy bastard, always a greedy bastard.”

Fear and fondness were truly an irresistible mix, and they came spilling out of him into Flint’s welcoming hand, leaving him hollow and wanting more and more and more.

“You aren’t finished,” he remarked with a come-hither look. “However do we remedy that?”

“By losing that smirk and trying to rest.”

“Ah, Captain, does it do _things_ to you?”

“Yes, and to my patience with you specifically.” Flint leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up his neglected coat, which had slid off them at some point.

It was certainly adding some interesting new memories to its collection of tales of savagery and horror.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are <3
> 
> **Edited 14-08-2016**


End file.
